


Segments

by AlyxStar



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 16,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyxStar/pseuds/AlyxStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into the lives of Hawke and her companions, one moment at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My friend copy/pasted an old DA word prompt list into our skype chat. These ideas started pinging in my head.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age II. If I did, do you seriously think it would take so long to get the romance going again with Fenris?

** 01\. Motion **

He will deny it until the day someone convinces a Hurlock to wear a frilly dress, but he watches Hawke in battle. How can he not, when she commands such absolute loyalty from the rest of her companions  _without_ using magic to sway them?

She does not fight like a typical Mage, he's noticed. There is a lethal fluidity to her movements that speaks of time spent dabbling in the style of rogues and assassins. Where the Abomination and the Blood Mage remain mostly in the one area while twirling their choices in staff around, Hawke is always in motion, weaving between individual scuffles and darting from one target to the next with crippling accuracy.

Yet for all his observation, he has yet to determine if she hides a dagger in the folds of her robes to dispatch foes when her Mana is low and spells fizzle out on her fingertips.

**02\. Cool**

His skin feels raw and overly hot where the Rage Demon had managed to snag him, and it takes far too much willpower for his liking to withhold a cry of protest when the Elfroot paste is applied to the burnt, blistered flesh of his throat. But the fleeting, precise brush of practiced fingers is gone just as quickly, the paste shockingly cool. A soothing balm to the damaged surface nerves bombarding his brain with messages of injury and  _pain._

He quirks a brow, not trusting his voice to fully hide the level of pain he's in (no need to give the Abomination any ideas of what spells to use against him). Hawke grins at him and wiggles her fingers in front of his face.

"You don't like magic being used  _on_ you, but I've found that a touch of Ice magic to a salve can work wonders for a burn."

He scowls at her admission of using magic to treat him, but can't bring himself to hold it against her like he would the Abomination. Not when her aid actually worked so well in calming the hurt.

**03\. Young**

She has no intention of dying young (especially not so soon after Bethany, it would  _destroy_ her Mother), is not reckless by any means. But when she sees  _Aveline_ brought to one knee and in obvious trouble, a red haze descends and awareness of her own predicament is cast aside in favour of pummeling her friend's attackers into submission with elemental fury.

**04\. Last**

Even when it's agreed that he will take last watch - and should get as much sleep as possible until then - Varric has always been the last of the resters to actually fall asleep, Bianca always at hand  _just in case._

**05\. Wrong**

One day she will bash both their heads together, since they clearly cannot muster enough temporary maturity to simply  _agree to disagree_. One day she will sit Anders and Fenris down and outline  _exactly_ where they are both wrong in their standpoints. But for now she simply grinds her teeth - beyond exhausted with the argument that has raged on and off again for the past half hour - and asks for the gift of patience from whichever God might be listening.

Of course then Carver has to open his trap, foul little shit, in support of Fenris and she momentarily forgets her good intention, bringing her staff around with enough force that the collision with his face will leave a mark for at least several days.

"OW! Wha -" She levels a finger at him, incensed glare enough to silence him mid-exclamation from behind cupped hands already dripping with fresh blood from the casualty of a broken nose.

"Hate  _me_ all you want, but don't you  _dare_ take a stance against all Mages. Bethany was the best of us, determined to her last breath to prove that the majority are not evil. Don't you  _dare_ spit on our sister's memory, Carver, or Maker help me I will show you why it is not wise to cross a spellcaster!"

The other two, she notices, wisely shut up.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**06\. Gentle**

She'd only seen a Mabari once before, back in Ferelden. That beast of a dog capable of tearing the limbs from Darkspawn had frightened her something awful.

But Hawke's canine companion is as different to that one as night is to day, and Merril doesn't hesitate in offering him the head scratches he loves when he flops down beside her to share body heat in the chilly evening air spent camping along the Wounded Coast.

In fact, she'd heard from Aveline that the dog had located a lost kitten sometime in their first year in Kirkwall, and had brought the ball of fluff back to its frantic owner, held safely in the measured clasp of strong jaws.

If he could be so gentle as to not harm a kitten the size of one of his forepaws, then there was no need to fear him, as she was a friend of Hawke's, was there?

**07\. One**

Three years in Kirkwall with no interest in relationships and all it took was one foiled Templar ambush to doom him to days spent pining and nights filled with longing for the Mage so... so _carefree_ in the display of her talents around the city.

Justice was right in declaring her a distraction, but that does little to stop his fall.

**08\. Thousand**

She could apologise a thousand times over and it still wouldn't be enough. Not when she finally glimpses what Hawke tries so hard to hide - the limping gait, using her staff more as a support than as a conductor for her spells, the pained grimace whenever she sits down or stands up.

They'd all witnessed the fight for Kirkwall, but she in particular had hoped that Anders could outdo all his previous work and completely mend the horrifying damage caused by that single, soul-wrenching impalement.

And Hawke, she... she waved away the apologies with a joke and a smile, eyes clear and honest, as though nearly dying for someone who had  _abandoned_ her was... nothing. As though it was a standard thing.

"I don't deserve your friendship, Amelie, but... thank you."

**09\. King**

In the few seconds it takes for him to sprint over and grab Danarius by the throat, only one word dances through his head.

_Checkmate._

**10\. Learn**

Trust is not something that comes easily to someone as damaged as Fenris, she knows. It's as plain as day to see, even for the guards she requests keep watch over Hawke when she's near their posts. But a few speculations here and there have her watching the taciturn elf whenever they both accompany Hawke on her jobs around and about Kirkwall.

He fights alongside Hawke, and she watches.

He guards Hawke's back from stealth attacks, and she watches.

He sleeps closer to Hawke than the rest of the group when camping outwith the city wall, and she watches.

He stands firm by Hawke's side, and she watches.

Then, one day, he allows a healing spell to be cast, and Aveline ceases her observations with a hidden smile.

Even one such as Fenris could learn to trust, if placed in the right company.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a side note I forgot to mention earlier - these prompts do not go in order of the game timeline, so some events which happened in Act I might be mentioned after events in Act III and vice versa.

**11\. Blur**

Orana can't quite make out her face, and it takes a few moments to realise why. Tears have obscured her vision as she pets the hound they speak of, reducing her Mistress' smiling face to a blur of pale skin and dark, elegant tattoo.

And to think she had only applied her makeup an hour ago! Bother.

"You... you are certain, Mistress? I do not wish harm to befall him."

"Nor do I. But he is capable in battle where you are not, Orana, he will defend you if ever someone is hostile. Take him with you when you venture outside, and let those that spit upon your heritage think twice about attacking you.  _You are important and deserving of a normal life,_ never forget that."

She doesn't quite know how to respond to that, not that the sob threatening at the back of her throat would allow words anyway.

**12\. Wait**

The slow dance between Broody and Hawke is anything but subtle to observers but the two idiots, themselves, are oblivious to it.

Not that Varric minds. The writer in him knows that the slow build is always the most rewarding and he  _does_ intend to see this particular chapter of their story draw to a close, if for no other reason than inspiration.

Still. Hawke's patience deserved to be credited as  _legendary_. Over three years since first meeting the prickly porcupine, and she still had eyes for only him, settling in for the long wait for him to  _notice the very obvious thing already._

_Come to think of it... maybe I shouldn't have made that bet against 'Bela._

**13\. Change**

They had run as a family for so long. Then illness had taken Father, cruel chance claimed Bethany, Mother was a shadow of her former self, and Carver's hatred had sent him into the arms of the  _Templars._

And Hawke... she didn't recognise the hands she scrubbed clean of blood in the washbasin. Overly pale from wearing gloves, scarred where healing spells had come too late, quick-fingered, strong, determined, but foreign. So very foreign and different to the soft, innocent flesh prior to arriving in Kirkwall.

_Who am I, now?_

**14\. Command**

The Qunari make the archer nervous. After struggling to dispatch several Tal-Vashoth in a timely manner he has learned that the hulking giants are deadly foes. Nimble and quick despite their large size, trained in battle tactics and exceptional use of brute force, with a keen eye for rogues in the shadows and horns gracing their heads. It made a one-hit kill shot against them nearly impossible.

That knowledge made him terribly anxious on an instinctual level.

But when Hawke asks for Fenris and he to accompany her to speak with the Arishok - the one in command of the  _entire_ Qunari militia - about his missing people, he does not hesitate in donning his armour, nor stumble in his tread to the compound they could very well meet their end in.

For all that they pose a very real threat to all in Kirkwall, Sebastian will not allow Hawke to face their leader on her own.

**15\. Hold**

"Isabela!"

The shout of alarm makes the other party members spin just as the pirate's unsure footing slips on the rocks, sending her into a sudden fall.

One that propels her over the edge of the rugged terrain, made slick from stormy weather, just as Hawke dives for her, some form of Force magic billowing from her hands in shimmery waves.

Fenris barely has time to scramble and grab Hawke's ankle before her stubborn hold on Isabela's forearm can send both women plummeting to their deaths, cursing a lengthy tirade in his Mothertongue as tired muscles protest the combined weight and awkward angle.

Why did Hawke need to be so damn determined to meet her doom before allowing her friends the same fate?

_Idiot woman!_


	4. Chapter 4

**16\. Need**

She's muttering, begging,  _pleading_ for him to hold on until Anders arrives to fix him up.

She doesn't know how long they're stuck amongst the Mercernary corpses with only Merril as protection should more arrive, Varric having run for the other end of Darktown as soon as they realised that Fenris was down and badly wounded, beyond Hawke's current abilities.

His pulse is so weak, and there's so much blood.

"Please please please don't go dying on me now. I need you, you impossible bastard. You hear me?  _I need you_ damn it! Please, Fenris, hold on a little longer.  _Please._ "

**17\. Vision**

Hawke - the Mage with an overly gentle heart and free smiles for all - falls to the Templars. Falls to their... their wrongness, magic warped and twisted slamming her off her feet and tearing a bone chilling  _shriek_ from her throat.

The sound even brings the Spirit to a momentary halt, sparking blue gaze falling on the writhing form as she claws at her head, eyes clamped shut and blood sending thin red lines from nostrils and ears.

The girl they had come to save wisely makes her escape while everyone is distracted, Aveline distantly notes, but she's frozen on Hawke, head still ringing from the sound of her friend in obvious agony.

Was  _this_ the reaction to their Silences and Holy Smites? Was  _this_ the way they secured a Mage's surrender?

"You will  _burn_!"

* * *

Hawke is still clearly shaken days after the discovery of Ser Alrik's papers, confirmation of his... plans. The spell, or whatever name they gave the twisted thing that had struck her down, had affected her vision. Robbed her of it, to the point she was sent into a panic that had forced Fenris to knock her out to stall her struggles long enough to carry her to the clinic.

Sight had returned slowly, darkness giving way to moving shadows, then to grey blurs, before colour and clarity finally started returning.

Even so, she catches Hawke's minute flinch when the group of men at the bar suddenly explode in a shouting match. It makes Aveline's blood boil in both anger and shame.

Anger at the Templars.

Shame at herself, for ever thinking the Mages in Kirkwall were simply overreacting to the Templars' attempts at "settling" the issue of Apostates "peacefully".

**18\. Attention**

Merril has the attention span of a newborn Mabari pup (very little) and she's a  _Mage_ , to boot.

But Carver still thinks she's adorable (and himself crazy because of it).

**19\. Soul**

If eyes are truly the windows to one's soul, then Fenris never wants to see that expression of Hawke's after Leandra's death ever again.

If eyes are truly the windows to one's soul, then he was witness to part of Hawke's soul  _shattering_ that night.

**20\. Picture**

They're all laughing around the table, especially at Varric's wildly exagerrated tales.

**Distraction.**

_I know. But give me this night with them, please._

If only someone could freeze this moment and paint a picture of the tangible happiness in bright, vivid colours to keep in the breast pocket of his coat, maybe then he could shoulder his burden a little easier.

It was a great evil, yes, but a necessary one the longer the Templar-Mage conflict wore on. It would lead to eventual peace in Kirkwall. For everyone.

He hoped.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**21\. Fool**

He likes most of Mistress' companions, especially the dwarf! They were almost the same height!

But he doesn't like the male who smells of steel and strong incense. And all that ridiculous armour Mistress avoided!

So he does the most logical thing ever to teach the fool a lesson 

He hikes up his leg and relieves himself on the shiny white stuff.

**22\. Mad**

Maybe they should have followed the miner's advice and run while they had the chance.

That dragon was not tiny. Or adorable.

In fact, it looked murderously enraged.

"Who's bright idea was it to piss off Mama Dragon, again?"

"Doesn't matter.  _RUN!"_

**23\. Child**

"I remember when Amelie was a young girl -"

" _Mother_ , not this again, please."

"Do  _continue,_ Serah Hawke. I insist."

"Maker I hate you, dwarf."

**24\. Now**

"Serah Hawke, I cannot possibly -" He falls silent when she fixes him with an icy glare so similar to her daughter's.

Not quite so severe, granted, but perhaps more intimidating due to the fact she was the woman who raised Hawke to be as tough as nails as she is.

"Oh yes you can, young man. Orana's stew is simply mouthwatering."

"I can eat later, I have patients -"

"Your clinic is empty, and my daughter has told me of you, Anders. You'll eat now, not 'later' when your food can be handed to your patients. Off you go. Chop chop, your body needs feeding!"

She was going to stand there until he took the wrapped pot? Bugger. Dinner it was.

Funny how Justice wasn't voicing a protest to such a 'distraction'.

_Silenced by Mother Hawke? And here was me thinking you were fearless._

**25\. Shadow**

He brings up the rear, following them like a shadow, mostly hidden. Enemies usually overlooked him anyway, not many had heard of the crossbow wielding dwarf when Fenris was such an eye-catcher in battle.

The lack of publicity as a member of Hawke's crew is certainly helpful. By the time the Invisible Sisters realise he's also a target to dispatch, he's already decorated seven of them with loving bolts straight from Bianca's unforgiving maw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so maybe I like the idea of Hawke and Carver being so snipy with each other, but unwittingly firing off the same comments at different times :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now be accepting word prompts for this fic, so any ideas would be very much welcome (I'll need to change the expected chapter number, whoops).
> 
> A massive thank you to sightsoblind for the prompts of "found", "hope", and "family". I hope you like what I've done for them.

**26\.  Found**

She should feel anger at this... this  _Mage_ who is not her Master, nor Danarius. But she does not. Not entirely. Frustration, perhaps, but not anger.

She cannot be angry at Hawke when he who is Leto but not Leto looks to the woman with an expression that softens the steel teeth of  _Fenris_. The escaped slave, the experiment, Danrius' most prized possession -

Her  _brother_.

It is there for just an instant, the smile (at one of those poor, poor jokes Hawke so frequently voices), but even that moment is enough. In it she can see hints of the black-haired boy who had always taken extra tasks to spare their mother the burden when her health started failing. The same boy who lay bloodied and near-dead at Danarius' feet, but not broken, his last request ringing in her ears.

_"When I triumph - **when** , sister, not  **if** \- take Mother and go. Don't look back for me. You take Mother and you run, get her the help she needs, be free of here. Promise me, Varania!"_

But that boy is dead, burned to dust by the cruel hand of a Magister, the same one she... the same one she had betrayed him to.

She shies away from such a thought, flinches back from the tight pain it causes in her chest, the apology it nearly draws from her lips. A gravelly voice breaks her of the vicious circle of thought, and only when the others laugh does she realise that Le-  _Fenris_ has made a joke.

She should feel angry at Hawke, hate her, for stealing away the only life she has known. But through Hawke she has found her brother beneath snapping teeth and defensive temper. Her Leto, with Mother's eyes and Mother's mouth.

Leto, the boy who sacrificed himself for his family.

Fenris, the guarded man he has become.

Her brother, by blood and by choice.

**27\. Hope**

Flighty, forgetful, scatterbrained and disorganised. She is well aware of her own faults, and yet she soldiers through them daily.

In fact, proof of it was stacked neatly amongst the chaos of her writing desk! Letters from the Gallows. From Carver, the idiot bear.

It has taken months of careful thought and cautious words and patience with his waspish retorts, but finally she has made progress with him.

_Carver,_

_You have already lost one sister to unfortunate circumstances, and you of all people know Amelie, know how she helps others without care for herself. I will always guard my friend, but sometimes even the best defences can be ripped asunder._

_Make peace with her where you could not with Bethany. Do not inflict regret and guilt on yourself should the worst ever come to pass, I beg of you._

_Dareth,_

_Merril._

His responding letter is... messy, to say the least, but she smiles (a wonder her cheeks do not split apart for how big it is) as her eyes fall to the last line again.

_I will try._

So long as he attempts to meet poor Amelie in the middle, actually works at setting aside his petty rivalry, there is hope for the Hawke siblings.

**28\. Family**

It is love for Fenris ( _brother, no!)_ that has her calling on her spells to cut down a half dozen of the Templars when one of their rogues tackles him from his defensive stance in front of Hawke and Varania.

It is love for his sister that has Carver turning his blade against the rest of his "brothers-in-arms" before they can press the advantage and rain Silences upon the heads of the cornered women.

Family ties are things made to endure, not easily broken, not even by duty and oath, or magic and wariness.

**29\. Goodbye**

All that is left is a note and a dead body. She should curse the pirate's name, for this could only end  _badly._

But she can't. To the Void with the consequences! She could deal with them, if it meant Isabela was safe.

**30\. Hide**

Justice frowns on running like a coward with his tail between his legs, halts him from acting on the desire.

Oh, how he wants to flee to Darktown and hide from Hawke. Preferably for the next decade, if the thunderous expression on her face was anything to go by.

And the unnatural guttering of the torches providing the bar with some much needed light.

"My brother's a Templar, you inconsiderate bastard!"

"No, wait, I meant -"

"Shut up."

He does, mainly because her eyes all but snap sparks when he opens his mouth again. He can't help but notice that Fenris is smirking, much like a smug cat after snacking on someone's favourite canary. Of course the elf would be happy that he was in the doghouse, so to speak. Bastard.

"If you  _ever_ touch my brother, magically or otherwise, with intent to harm, I will kill you. And if Justice tries to stop me, I'll find a way to kill him, too. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. Now hurry up and finish that drink before I decide to poison it."

... He needed a vacation.

A long one.

In the Deep Roads.

 _Far_ away from Hawke and her anger and his own raging stupidity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with "Dareth" in Merril's letter as it apparently means be safe? It seems like something she would include in a letter.


	7. Chapter 7

**31\. Lost**

The courting process is much more... complicated than she remembers. Then again,  _Wesley_ had courted  _her_ , one step at a time and over many, many months. She couldn't recall it ever being so  _awkward_ with him.

It is only after the disaster with the duty roster that she is honest with herself. When it comes to acting on matters of the heart she is so out of her depth she might as well be stripped to her smalls and floating back to Ferelden.

**32\. Fortune**

With anyone else Isabela snoops with the intention of  _acquiring_ some interesting valuables.

The ragtag group she has come to consider friends, however, simply had to endure her lockpicking ways because she was nosy and  _loved_ a good gossip.

What better source for endless topics than Hawke's new residence?

She is greeted by the dwarf, Bodahn, ushered in warm and welcome by Leandra - lovely woman, Hawke's mother, if a bit  _too_ nice for her liking - and left to her own devices soon after to await Hawke's return from the marketplace.

So she snoops, in the dressers and drawers and wardrobes, behind paintings and statues, under the mattress and then, finally, that plain chest on the left of Hawke's chambers' solid wooden door upon entering. The lock is pitiful against her loving touch, and up the lid goes.

To reveal the  _entire_ reward of that blighted expedition. She knows the sum (had wheedled the number from Varric some days ago), whittles away the time by counting every sovereign, silver, and copper piece.

When Hawke returns a half hour later, mabari hound in tow, Isabela gives her a  _look_ , the fortune stacked into neat piles around her.

"Sweet thing, we need to have a chat about your lack of hidey holes."

**33\. Safe**

"You listen here, elf. I can't just up and walk away from the Mages here, they  _need_ a friend in the Order to watch out for them. Someone needs to keep watch over my sister, and that someone is you. Don't give me that look! I've seen how she is around you, she trust you."

"Oh, and Fenris? Hurt her, and I'll kill you."

**34\. Ghost**

He doesn't know how she can stand to still live in the place. Leandra's gone, and yet something in the mansion feels as though she's still there.

Not in the crazy Bartrand and lyrium idol kind of something. It's... warmer. More welcoming. Maybe it's his eyes playing tricks on him with the flickering light from the fire, but he could swear he sees three people gathered around her. One of them (impossible) is Leandra, a towering mountain of a man by her side with a crooked nose and eyes as blue as the sea in Hawke's gaze, and a younger woman with fine black hair and a smile as sweet and bright as the first kiss of sunshine chasing away winter's chill, mage robes fluttering as she reaches out to pat Hawke's forearm in a tender fashion.

But then he blinks and they are gone. Hawke hasn't moved from the plush armchair, so maybe he did imagine it? How many drinks had he shared with her, anyway?

Too many, clearly.

**35\. Book**

She's ever curious, eager to learn, thirsty for knowledge to such a degree she would shame any other First were she still a member of the clan.

She doesn't dwell on that thought's tendril, knowing only pain waits at the end of it like a poisoned bear trap, and instead peels back the wrapping paper with hesitant fingers.

A gift, for her, and it's not even a special day, is it?

But it's not, and Hawke has given her access to more knowledge by using a glimpse into her own childhood. Merril's eyes are damp as she cradles the book of Ferelden fairytales to her chest as tenderly as she would a newborn babe.

"Oh, Hawke, I -"

"I used to read the fourth one to the twins whenever either of them fell sick. It was Carver's favourite."

And of course that has her bawling even as the tips of her ears flame bright red at the mention of the younger Hawke.

"Ma serannas, Lethallan."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fenhawke is strong in this chapter. Oops.  
> It is worth noting that - while not in timeline order - numbers 38-40 are all linked to the same subject/quest/resulting fallout.

**36\. Eye**

It takes a while for them to get used to fighting together, learn the steps of calling out to one another or offering a brief touch in passing as positions are changed.

He has never fought alongside a Mage before Hawke.  _For_ one (Magister, not Mage, there is a difference otherwise he'll go mad), yes, but never beside, and the bombardment of spells around him more often than not set the lyrium alight in the first few weeks.

Hawke, he soon learns, has  _spectacular_ aim and a way of manipulating her magic completely around obstacles. Not once do her offensive talents touch him; but the same compliment cannot be paid to how she handles her staff after a battle, and he is unlucky enough to be too close by, not paying attention to his  _ally_ , when she swings her staff back onto the waiting clasp at her shoulderblade. The elegantly carved top (amber focusing crystal framed by strong fingers of dark wood) collides rather solidly with his face, the unexpected blow sending him back a step to keep his balance, head ringing from the sudden assault.

"Fenris! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for that - oh  _flames,_ are you okay?"

He refuses healing (cannot stand the lick of magic upon his skin though he says it is to conserve Mana in the event of another skirmish) but later regrets it when the swelling forces his left eye shut.

Oh, bloody  _marvelous._

**37\. Never**

He watches them, as he is prone to do when his strength fails and he is forced to rest (he spends more time in a chair with each day that passes, he will be lucky to see the year's end). Watches Amelie help Carver sound out words while she braids little Bethy's hair, so serious and helpful where an eleven year old girl should be bubbly and carefree. A situation only worsened by the growing bloom of magic she must keep contained in the house.

And unless he's mistaken, her sister will be a Mage as well, if the way Amelie's weak spells gravitate towards Bethy is any indication. Magic is a burden  _he_  carries willingly, but never had he wished it on his children, on Leandra. Especially now, when illness drags him closer to death with each new sunrise. He will not be here to help when Bethy's magic surges, nor when Amelie brings her first sweetheart home, nor when Carver gets into his first fight with real intent to harm behind it.

_I am sorry, my darling. I never wanted you to carry this weight on your own._

**38\. Sing**

Many would think it unlikey - she'd been in that category. A voice so deep and gravelly could not  _possibly_ make for good singing, and yet it  _is._

She doesn't understand it, even if she weren't plagued by pain and fever and bone-deep exhaustion, she wouldn't understand. Fenris sings in Tevene, after all.

But he definitely sings, voice pitched low and his body cast half in shadow due to the angle of the chair from the fire, and she knows. Knows down to her bones that it is an attempt at comfort even when weariness bests her. For even unconscious, she still hears it, and his voice follows her as she floats here and there in the Fade. An anchor, a lifeline, something to follow back home should she lose her way.

He guards her, even from the demons lurking around her dreams.

**39\. Sudden**

There is no time to formulate a plan in this mad dash and dance for her life and Kirkwall's future. The hulking Qunari is on the offensive, his stamina far greater than hers, she has no choice but to move on instinct alone, letting her magic fly powerful and free.

Then there is  **pain** , white-hot and sudden, wiping thought and sense clean from her mind as she is jerked to a halt, staff clattering to the ground as hands scrabble at the massive blade punched straight through her abdomen. All she can do is stare down at it for a few heartbeats, shocked, before he's hefting her added weight upwards as though it is nothing and something else  _tears_ and she can't help but scream.

In agony, in fear, in defiance.

She cannot,  **will not** , fail.

**40\. Stop**

She falls.

The Arishok is dead, there is a cheer slowly gathering volume from those previously herded in for slaughter, a murmur of unease from the watching giants before they start retreating.

But Hawke, weaving precariously on the spot and clutching at her stomach as though that will stop her body from spilling out the entirety of her lifeblood -

Fenris stares, unable to move.

She  _falls._

Impossible. She'd bounce back up on her feet, grin on her lips and joke from her tongue, it cannot be possible -

"Hawke." A whisper, a plea. Get up.

She doesn't.

_"Hawke!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Malcom is supposed to have died about 3 years before the Fifth Blight, but I prefer the idea that Hawke is so serious (even with wit and sarcasm at her disposal) and protective of her small family because her father passed away when she was still very young. She became protector of her siblings at a young age, and it's stuck with her since.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I am accepting prompts for this fic, so if you have any words that you would like for me to tackle, let me know.
> 
> And another thank you to sightsoblind for the prompts of "tomorrow", "yesterday", "today", and "faith". This was the best I could come up with.

**41\. Tomorrow**

The flow of letters is endless, the appeals for help spread out on her writing desk with all the subtle presence of a warhammer to the head.

On the left is her outbound mail, her replies to questions and queries and general correspondence. In the middle is the pile of tasks she needs to sort through and prioritise over the week. On the right... is the mountain of unopened mail waiting to flood her free time the moment she's free of the current stack.

It's been never ending since the expiry of her year's contract with Athenril, and it is  _exhausting._

"Is that all of it, Messere?" She starts, nearly knocking over the carefully arranged envelopes, and looks to the kind dwarf who has acted as servant for the past three years without a single complaint. Even now his eyes twinkle with his smile, and she briefly wonders what he sees. Is irritation and weariness so clear on her features?

"Yes, Bodahn, that's all of it. Until tomorrow." The dry reply has him chortling, patting her arm before he gathers up the mail to deliver by noon, carefully arranging it in his satchel so that not even a single corner is at risk of bending.

"You are a good lady, Messere, and many people know it. Is it really so strange that they would come to you for aid before any other?"

Given the growing tension between the Circle and the Templars, and the City Guard being drawn into the middle... no, she supposes it isn't so strange, after all. Just irksome.

**42\. Yesterday**

Yesterday she was in the Fade, trying to salvage a poor lad's sanity before it fractured under the weight of his magic.

Today she'd be visiting the mansion of the nug-humping traitor who left them all for dead in the thaig.

Tomorrow she'd be venturing into the Qunari compound to speak with the Arishok, again.

Was there ever a time when her days were dictated by her own choices and not the unrelenting demands of strangers?

Was there ever a time when her yesterdays were studies and her tomorrows were hunting and foraging?

Was there ever a time when she could just lounge in her own home and enjoy a good book and a glass of aged wine?

The more weeks that dragged by, the harder it was to recall that relative peace and quiet of living in small towns, helping Mother, watching out for the twins, exercising her magic like physical muscles, just as Father had taught her.

_Flames, but I'm tired of this._

**43\. Today**

"Hawke, you look exhausted. Should we maybe -"

"I'm fine. Let's get going."

"It's okay if you need some time to... well. No-one will blame you if you decide you need a break, Poppet."

"Kirkwall needs me."

"Bullshit. Kirkwall managed long before you were here, it can manage a few days for you to get your head together."

She's so shocked to hear  _Sebastian_ swear that she doesn't offer even marginal resistance as he grasps her hand and hauls her out of the estate's courtyard. Isabela and Aveline follow them through several streets, before making themselves scarce when he pulls her to a stop in front of the florist's stall.

"What are we doing here?"

"Living. You need to get out and about, but you also need to make time for  _yourself_. Think of today as... Hawke day. Pamper yourself. Set aside your duties this once, for a while. Enjoy a day of your own choosing."

"But the missing children -"

" _Hawke._ Stop arguing and let us help you, stubborn woman. Aveline and Fenris are more than capable of planning a tactical assault, and Varric has his contacts to monitor the goings on. Let your friends deal with your responsibilities to the citizens of Kirkwall for a day or two. We  _want_ to help you."

**44\. Faith**

He has remained true to his faith for as long as he can remember, but even he struggles to keep the teachings of forgiveness close to his heart when he's witness to the depravity of Mages on such a frequent basis. How they abuse their powers at the expense of others.

So many fell to the temptations of demons, became a danger to everyone else. Some didn't even need a demon's help to be evil - Fenris' past could attest to that - and he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the Templars have the right of it. Maybe all Mages should be confined to the Circles, watched at all times, contained and dealt with if proven to be weak to a demon's call.

But then he sees Merril, steeped in her ways of blood magic, playing with the children in the Alienage, holding classes for all the elves, teaching them about their forgotten history one small segment at a time. Helping others, even when she has every right to be bitter, vicious, given that she's an outcast from her own clan.

He thinks of Anders, and how frequently he exhausts himself (and his... passenger) healing the wounds and maladies of others without asking for anything in return, not even coin. Anders, who still accompanies Hawke when she has need of him, even though being near her must be like a dagger to the heart, still a good friend despite feeling so much more for her.

And Hawke, who has lost so much and gained so little because of magic. Still willing to help others and use her talents for good - using them against those who would seek to torment innocents, or in self defence - Hawke, who resists the promises of every demon and is one of the strongest women he knows.

He feels shame, then, for being so critical of Mages. Not all were inherently evil, and the Maker Himself loved  _all_ of His children, even those touched by magic.

**45\. Time**

There's no telling how much time anyone has, no telling when death comes to collect another... soul? Spirit?

It is with this in mind that he finds himself at the estate, years too late and blinking at the transformation from a decaying skeleton to something grand and whole and welcoming. He should have visited sooner, set aside his anger, explained his reason for... for all but abandoning her.

But none of that matters now, does it?

For several minutes there is no answer to his three sharp knocks, and he is beginning to suspect the entire household is out, ready to leave, when the sound of bolts pulling back reaches his ears and he pauses his restless shifting of weight from foot to foot, suddenly nervous. What should he even  _say?_

Her pale face - paler than he remembers - appears in the crack of space she allows the door to _open,_ and the shock that twists her expression is a solid kick to his gut.

_"Carver?"_

"Hello sister. Can I -... May I come in?"


	10. Chapter 10

**46\. Wash**

He leads them on a merry chase of catch the wet Mabari all around the mansion (even managing to charge through the cellar without getting caught) and is just about to flee up the stairs again when he hears it. The sound of  _freedom_ , a creak of the front door.

He charges, blind to who has offered him his chance at escape, only knowing that it is  _right there._ They all scramble after him and Mistress shouts for - oh, it's Sebastian - the door to be closed,  _it's swinging backward no no no!_

He makes it just in time, shouldering his way through the narrowing gap, bounding for the marketplace with a volley of happy barks. It's a place he knows has many puddles after a rainfall. Many, many dusty, muddy puddles.

Freedom has never felt so sweet.

**47\. Torn**

He's torn between laughing hysterically and wanting to slam his head into the table hard enough to cause injury when Isabela mentions the electricity thing.

He can all but see ideas firing in Varric's head as the dwarf rubs his beardless chin in that  _you've given me an idea and you'll feature in my next novel under a different name_ fashion of his. Merril looks as confused as ever when she hears of not-so-innocent topics, leaning over to Isabela for explanation of why her words have caught everyone's attention so.

Hawke... her eyes flash to Fenris for a moment, lingering in a sort of... contemplating manner  _and he really doesn't want to think of the implications of that look_ and the wheezing sound escaping him  _does_ turn into hysterical laughter when Justice nudges at him, inquiring about Isabela's meaning.

Maker smite him now, this was beyond embarrassing.

**48\. History**

The markings are... beyond gorgeous. Graceful, sweeping lines from wrists to fingertips, curling vines framing taut musculature, dots strategically placed to give the impression of symmetry, and there is a diamond formation around his navel and seamlessly blending with a fine treasure trail that makes her mouth go dry and her fingers itch.

But even though she sees the lyrium patterns as a work of art that adds a level of mystery to an outrageously handsome appearance (okay so she's well beyond smitten with him), she knows there is a history of pain behind them. Pain before and after they were carved into his flesh.

So she takes her time to trail curious, tender fingertips along the map they make of his body, ever so careful and smiling so very softly when he eventually relaxes with a sigh under her touch.

A kiss is placed to the centre of his chest on impulse,  _you're beautiful_ left unspoken for the time being.

**49\. Power**

He's not... immune to the lure of the demons. He can hear their whispers, their promises, as their eyes brush over him. Aveline draws their attention, though, then Fenris. Betrayal happens twice, and as he tries to hit Broody -  **glowing** Broody - somewhere that will incapacitate him long enough for Hawke to turn her full attention to the Pride Demon, he's distantly thankful that he's not a Mage.

To face these kinds of demons every night, drawn to a Mage's power like moths to flame... it would be enough to steal away his sanity three times over.

**50\. Brother**

He doesn't know how to be a brother, can't clearly recall a time before his markings, but glimpsing Varania at the door, hesitating just beyond the joyful atmosphere of the group, he finds himself beckoning her over with a wave of two fingers and a smile, finds that he wants to  _try._

Betrayal be damned, she was still his family.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story rating has been upped to Mature due to this chapter's content. It's not explicit by any means, but that could change in future chapters.

**51\. God**

Magisters were the worst to fight, so determined to cause disaster in the name of power and  _always_ summoning a near battalion of the bloody dead to do their dirty work for them.

But Danarius, he's a special something. Isabela can see it as soon as she claps eyes on him, standing straight and imperious at the top of the stairs. She never did like that kind of attitude - it usually came with claims to Godhood and enough arrogance to choke a Chantry Mother.

She looks to Fenris, notices how closely Hawke stands beside him, chances a glance at those hostile eyes.  Behind his bite -  _fear_ , and that just simply won't do.

"Hey sweet thing," She plants a hand on her hip when she diverts Hawke's attention, fingers the curved grip of her favourite dagger, grins in return to the sudden quirk of her companion's lips.

"What do you say we knock this false God off his throne? Thirty silver on him begging for mercy in a puddle of his own piss."

Oh the fury in those icy eyes of his is  _delicious_. Maybe she should pluck them from his skull and gift them to Fenris as a token of his freedom once this fight is done.

"I'll take that bet, my good friend."

_Then let's dance._

**52\. Wall**

Why the bloody flames was there a dragon so deep underground?! Why was there a dragon  _lair_ so deep underground? She catches another of the little buggers on her shield and barges it backward, grinning fiercely as a bolt lodges to halfway down the shaft through its evil little eye.

She blows errant strands of hair from her face and charges the cluster attempting to corner Hawke. One more down, a good dozen more and the adult to go. All in all it was going well. None of  _them_ had died yet.

Of course then Anders  _had_ to be sent careening into a wall, just as their luck would have it, and Aveline can only curse her momentary lapse into optimism and pray to the Maker that Hawke had at least  _started_ to learn more powerful healing spells.

**53\. Naked**

She is an exquisite creature, pale as snow in contrast to the deep red bedding she is stretched out on, sea blue eyes low-lidded and content as she watches him. Relaxed under the fingers he trails over her bared flesh, the trust in him to not cause harm while he commits her scars to memory an obvious, thrilling thing.

And when she peaks a short time later, his name a sharp cry torn from her throat and magic rushing to spark along her skin, his body  **burns** with want he hasn't felt since before his markings, if at all.

**54\. Drive**

"Why do you fight, Hawke?"

"Because if I don't, who will?"

**55\. Harm**

The ground rumbles in warning, sand shifting as she forces more magic through her staff, teeth bared in a feral snarl so unlike her.

Hawke charges straight for Grace with a wordless scream, but there are so many more coming forward like carrion birds circling their next meal.

Merril is not an angry person by nature, forgiving to a fault, but that is Carver -  _her Carver -_ bound and vulnerable by the trappings of blood magic, it is so very,  _very_ wrong.

And with a loud, wailing groan the earth answers her wild call, breaking apart beneath their feet, dropping Mages and Templars alike into a bottomless pit that swallows their screams in darkness.

_Her Carver. **Bound.**_ They will  **pay.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a common assumption that Hawke and Fenris had sex the night his memories threw him out of whack, but I much prefer the idea that they didn't. Pleasured each other and explored each other's bodies, yes, but not actual intercourse.


	12. Chapter 12

**56\. Precious**

It is Malcolm Hawke's magic which attracts Its attention. A powerful, binding magic that causes faint ripples in the Fade, fashioned to bind equally powerful demons and one of  _the_ Magisters who unleashed corruption into the mortal realm. What did they call it, Thedas?

It follows him, curious as to why he would perform such magic, endanger his life so. For a woman, It discovers, and an unborn. His child with the one called Leandra.

It watches from the Fade when the woman grows distressed in her final month, when nature itself dictates the babe is to be born. Watches as the man grows pale as his woman when she bleeds freely, sends a tingle into the Fade as he dips into his magic. Cool blue - a healing spell.

It watches as he cradles the tiny, silent human, face pinched in an expression It thinks is grief. It knows why - the babe's life force is no more than a weak thrum to Its gaze, fading. The woman asks something, panicked and weary, and the man replies, but It pays attention only to the dying little one clutched in his arms, floating closer, unseen.

It does not know what compels It to do so, but It extends a tendril of essence, twines the delicate current through and around the babe's heart, tightens just enough to give an encouraging squeeze. A beat is forced, then another, and another, and It zips a second tendril through the tiny pathways of veins and arteries to spread nourishment and spirit healing. The thrum sputters as though shocked - glows bright for a moment - then settles into something steady. Frail as all newborns are but steady all the same.

_You must live, little one._

A tiny hand curls into a fist, legs squirm and as the man catches his breath in surprise the babe's mouth opens in a shrill cry of distress.  _Cold._

"A girl. A precious baby girl. But oh, Leandra, she's so  _small_."

"But she's a fighter, just like her Father."

It retreats when It is certain the babe will not be weakening any time soon, content to simply watch.

They call her Amelie.

**57\. Hunger**

They all need to eat but Mama skips meals to make sure they're fed. Mama's too thin already, she thinks, doesn't like it.

She helps where she can, hunting for larger game and foraging for more plants and berries, but pickings are slim and Mama doesn't like her staying out so late even with Chomp beside her, just to be safe!

Stupid nickname for a dog, but Bethy had thrown a fit until Mama gave in. The dog doesn't seem to care, actually lives up to her new name when she catches a fox, kills it with a firm bite to the fragile neck.

One more to catch, and that would be Chomp's dinner for the night, too. Maybe she could sneak some extra meat to the twins when Mama wasn't looking. A little less food in her belly wouldn't hurt, right, when the twins needed it more? If they could eat plenty, and her a little less, maybe Mama would join them at the table again?

**58\. Believe**

"I hear he's Hawke's personal bodyguard."

"Personal bodyguard? Oh please, that girl isn't important enough to warrant a servant, never mind a bodyguard."

"Well she must have hired him for  _something_. Why else would the City Guard let him walk around Hightown as though he has a right to be here?"

"Well, I did hear that he was a... a  _sex slave_ back in Tevinter."

Gasps from them all, and scandalised expressions.

"You don't think - not Serah Hawke -"

"Not  _Leandra's_ girl."

"I wouldn't be so surprised. Have you seen the company she keeps? That pirate hussy is bad news. Mark my words, she will turn Leandra's girl into a whore yet."

He contemplates them a while longer, listening to their useless chatter - Hightown nobility, always so quick to believe the local gossip - before ever so casually planting his foot on an unattended pot of water at the merchant stall hiding him from immediate sight, shoving none too gently. It topples with a clatter, emptying its contents in a splatter that  _nearly_ catches on the expensive fabric of their dresses.

The sudden noise catches their attention and he has the vindictive satisfaction of watching each of them pale upon realising he must have heard every carelessly spoken word, grins when they trip over their own tongues in their haste to make a retreat's dozen excuses.

Pathetic, the lot of them.

**59\. Sparks**

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"I could have sworn -"  _that I saw sparks at Hawke's fingertips with that flash of lightning outside._

"Never mind."

**60\. Sunrise**

Whatever happened between them, it's not just Hawke that's affected, and the evidence to prove it is the only thing that stops Varric from turning the elf's ass into Bianca's next pincushion.

Under the cover of night and sprawling shadow he catches Fenris glancing at Hawke, frequently. Most times his face is blank, but Varric's caught a few instances where pain and longing flit over Fenris' expression. Usually after Hawke had sustained an injury of some sort earlier the same day.

It is obvious that he wants to touch her, make sure she's okay. Sometimes his hand will sneak out when Hawke's asleep as though to place his wrist on her forehead to test her temperature, or tuck her blanket more securely under her chin, but he always catches the motion and aborts it.

And at sunrise, when the creeping light brings out the dance of blue and purple hues in the inky fall of Hawke's hair, Fenris closes himself off again, throws up those icy walls of his and resumes his enforced distance from her.

Quite honestly? Varric thinks he's an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 56\. Precious - "It" is a spirit. I believe they play a much larger part in the living/mortal realm than simply inhabiting a Mage's body, and will step in to help mortal creatures if and when necessary. This one follows Hawke throughout her life.
> 
> 57\. Hunger - My Hawke has had two Mabari in her life. The first, Chomp, was already fully grown by the time Bethany and Carver were born, and passed away before the Blight hit Lothering. One of her male pups - Shadow - was kept by the Hawke family, and he is her Mabari companion in Kirkwall.


	13. Chapter 13

**61\. Armour**

She has to admit that the leather armour they'd all chipped in for looks  _damn_ fine on Hawke. Tough, supple, and  _clingy_ in all the right places. She'd probably be able to wear them under her Mage robes, if she ever went back to the fabric scraps offering little protection against arrows and daggers.

But usefulness in combat is not why Isabela approves  _so_ much, but rather the reactions of the men as Hawke weaves towards their favoured table.

Varric's eyebrows steadily migrate towards his hairline, Anders all but inhales his drink, and as Sebastian turns to thump him on the back she can see the blush creeping under his tan to brighten his cheeks a lovely red.

Fenris openly stares, gauntlet clad fingers tightening on his tankard and Isabela grins.

_Got'cha, Broody-pants._

**62\. Blood**

Merril notices mid-turn, barely remembers to dispatch the corpse, in shock as her brain struggles to process what her eyes see.

Fenris is half hidden by the natural formation of a rock column, drawing the main force of undead away from the more vulnerable party members, killing (re-killing?) them with quick strokes that knock their skulls bouncing across the ground in an almost comical fashion. Sebastian lurks at the sidelines, shattering brittle bones with well-placed arrows to topple them over, and Hawke fights a  _Revenant_ at the top of the rickety stairs.

_Alone._

And for all that she can twist and weave with the best of thieves and rogues, she isn't quite fast enough to dodge the whip-quick slash aimed at her middle.

"Hawke!" Blood arcs from the singing blade as the creature completes its swing, her friend stumbles, and Merril sees  _red_ pulsing in time to the drum in her ears, curls her hand into a tight fist and  _tears_ stone from the wall with her magic.

She hurls the projectile with a raw-throated yell, drawing the Revenant's attention just in time for it to realise she is the caster, before the stone hurtles into its helmeted head with the force of an angry mother bear's swipe to protect her cubs.

**63\. Books**

He scowls at the sudden addition to his unchanging decór (though now that he looks, where is the dust?) and nudges it with a poker he'd taken up to tend to the low burning fire.

"What is this?"

"Gifts!"

"... Over twenty of them." In a neat pile. On his wobbly writing desk.

"What? They're good reads -  _nothing_ from Varric, I promise - and I've read them before."

"I - Hawke, you know I can't read an entire book without help."

" _Yet_. You will, with practice. Come on, we'll make a start on this week's lesson just now."

**64\. Firelight**

If Aveline focuses on the discussions around the fire and the firelight glinting off of teeth bared in easy smiles, she could almost pretend they aren't stuck in a coastal cave during storm season, air rank with the smell of damp Elfroot and Embrium.

Almost.

**65\. Arishok**

She visits the Compound as soon as she is able - several weeks after the departure of the inhabitants, on the same day Anders declared her well enough to do more than pace around her private chambers.

It had been... bare, before.

Now? Barren was too light a term.  _Lifeless_ was much more appropriate, as though all indication of their presence had vanished from Thedas itself with the Arishok's death.

Thinking of her near-executioner draws her gaze to where she had found him so many times before (distantly expecting to see him perched there like a wolf waiting to strike), seated at the top of the stairs, vigilant and calculating, yet honourable. More than could be said for most of those at the top of the city's political chain.

Climbing the steps is painful, jarring the repair work still delicately holding her insides together, but she manages, laying a weary hand on the very spot his hulking frame used to occupy.

He had found her worthy of a warrior's death - had wanted it, if the remembered gleam to his eyes was anything to go by - but she had found  _him_ worthy of  _life._

For all that she didn't agree with the Qun or the collaring of the Qunari Mages, the Arishok himself had seemed a fair and just Commander.

Not that it mattered now.

"We didn't often see eye to eye but... goodbye, my friend."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to pheeber for the prompts of "zigzag" and "brouhaha". The other two will hopefully feature in the next chapter.

**66\. Rough**

She peers over his shoulder at the word he marks with a lyrium lined finger, scowling so darkly she wouldn't be surprised if the book went up in flames.

"Rough."

"Rough? But it doesn't look at all like -" She grabs his hand to still what she knows will become frustrated searching through the many sheets of parchment they'd gone through with his writing lessons.

It sounded like  _ruff_ , as in the patch of skin at the back of the neck a mother dog would use to lift her pups by, but it looked nothing like the word, and had a different meaning. She could easily understand his confusion.

"Why are there so many discrepencies between the written and spoken word, Hawke?" He's made no attempt to pull from her grasp, she notices.

"I can't answer that question, Fenris, I don't know the answer. What I do know is that it took me many years to learn how to read and write without mishap, and you are showing greater progress than I in such a short time. Don't be so hard on yourself, frustration and anger will only make it harder." She gives his hand an encouraging squeeze before retaking her seat by the fire and to resume knitting a new blanket (for him, not that he's aware of it).

"... Hawke."

"Hm?"

"What does the word mean?"

_The edge to your kisses that had me desperate for more -_

"A lack of gentleness or care. For example, if you're too rough in a spar you might leave your partner with bruises."

"... Ah."

  **67\. Favour**

He doesn't notice it at first, testament to what little attention he pays to the elf's appearance beyond his facial expressions for cues as to whether healing might be required or not. It's not until he catches Fenris staring after Hawke -

**Like you.**

_Shut up._

\- and fidgeting that his eyes finally lock on the deep red wound around the elf's wrist, secured over the gauntlet with a tight knot.

The same deep red present throughout Hawke's estate and featuring on her casual wear. The colour she is so fond of.

A token of her favour, on _Fenris_.

It makes his stomach turn, that she would choose someone undeserving of her affections.

**That is not for you to judge, Anders.**

_But -_

**Do you think she will accept you if she discovers our secret? Hawke is a compassionate soul, one who seeks to avoid conflict wherever possible and solve war before it begins. You know this. Will she smile at our plans? Will she accept your actions?**

_... No._

**Leave it be, my friend. To judge, and allow this jealousy to fester, is to cause yourself more ire in the future.**

**68\. Silence**

As a writer he often prefers quiet.

But the silence after Bartrand's insane ramblings is deafening, and Varric has never hated the lack of sound any more viciously than he does now.

He needs out of here. Now.

**69\. Zigzag**

He tries so hard not to laugh, but he truly can't help it. The injury is just so typically  _Varric._

"Let me guess. You pissed off a crossbow wielding dwarf and didn't think to zigzag when fleeing?"

The would-be thief only groans pitifully, face hidden by pillowed arms, and ass angled upwards by the pillow wedged under his pelvis.

The only reason he hadn't bled to death? The bolt lodged quite firmly in the left cheek.

**70\. Brouhaha**

The brouhaha following the function thrown to celebrate Hawke's rise to the title of Champion stayed for weeks.

It was just shy of scandal, bringing an elf to the event, smartly dressed as a guest, and introducing him as her partner for the evening, not her servant.

Hawke couldn't care less. Not only had she seen Fenris in leather boots - calf-hugging leather boots, Maker have mercy on her soul - he'd looked rather dashing in the clothes Varric had forced him into, and she'd had the pleasure of seeing him smile (faintly) even when surrounded by strangers.

Introducing him as her equal and doing away with the common belief she employed him for  _certain_ services was worth each and every titter of new gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I have the right idea for Brouhaha, as I've never heard of the word before, but I gave it a shot.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, pheeber, for the prompts of "parfait" and "illuminate".

**71\. Parfait**

"Maker, Hawke, this is delicious!" Donnic says, at the same time Aveline eyes the small collection of clay containers and demands to know what they contain.

"Oh, that's... uh. Chicken liver parfait, yeah, that in the red pot, with apple and saffron chutney." That earns a few stares, and a faint sound of recognition from Fenris.

"It's... well. It's a recipe Orana remembers her father making. I thought we could try it, for the occasion."

"You will ruin us on this foreign cuisine, Hawke."

"I'll let Orana know that you so approve of her culinary ability."

**72\. Illuminate**

"So what's it like, having a nightlight for a partner?"

"Varric! He is _not_ a nightlight!"

"Come now, Hawke, we all know he glows. Are you trying to tell me he hasn't once lit up like a Chantry bonfire on Funalis?"

She falls damningly silent, and he drops the coin he'd been counting in surprise when a blush climbs high on her cheeks.

_Oh this is golden! I need to include this in the next volume - something to do with illuminating the night and sex. Probably something kinky. **Very** kinky. The possibilities are endless!_

**73\. Dog**

_That's right, you maggot infested wretch. I am a dog, I am **the** dog, the Hawke hound, and if you don't back away from Mistress Orana this instant I'll bite off your testicles._

All of this Shadow aims to communicate in the vicious growl issuing from behind bared teeth, ears flat to his skull and hackles raised as he plants himself firmly in front of the kind elf lady who always gave him belly rubs in the evening.

The merchant wisely retracts his hand from its outstretched stance for the delicate wrist Orana cradles to her chest.

If she bruises, he'll track the human down and maul him worse than a nest full of hungry dragonlings.

**74\. Puddles**

He finds them behind Merril's house, lying on their fronts and giggling like little girls, making random gestures with their hands.

At first he cannot see more than that, but quiet relocation finds him a better angle, and he's caught between scowling and smiling.

Scowling at the carefree use of magic to pull water from puddles and make it dance in mid air.

Fighting back a smile of his own because he hasn't seen happiness on Hawke's face for far too long.

Magic wasn't always so bad, was it?

And Merril... had her moments of being such a good friend to Hawke that he could tolerate her. So long as she didn't use blood magic around him.

**75\. Footprints**

If someone was to remove her heart from her chest and examine it she's almost certain they would find two footprints in the shape of the soles of standard issue Templar boots stamped on its surface.

She remains strong for her mother that day, but a few nights later finds Aveline needing to all but frogmarch Hawke from the Hanged Man and the riot she'd nearly jumped into, wild-eyed and off balance from too much drink and too little sleep.

The next time she sees her little brother, she decides, she'll smack him square on the jaw with all the Force magic she can muster.

It's the _least_ he deserves.


	16. Chapter 16

**76\. Whispers**

_I just want you to be happy, darling._

_C'mon, Amelie, we're gonna be late!_

_Listen, sister... I'm sorry I -_

_No. No no no. Go away!_ They weren't real. Tricks, lures, taunting whispers beckoning her to dangerous places, full of false promise.

"Leave me alone - just leave me alone!"

_You could be happy, dearie._ Smooth, husky, seductive. Desire demon.

"No -!"

_All of you, together again. Isn't that what you want, poor girl? All under the same roof, happy._

"They're dead -"

_Are they?_

_Come back inside, little bluebell. It's going to rain soon._

That voice -!

She should have known they would stoop so low as to eventually fabricate Malcolm. She hisses at them, drives chilling ice towards the demon and - and the not-Father, stumbling backwards as though punched in the gut.

_Where are you going, bluebell? Hide and seek in this weather? Your Mother won't be pleased._ His laugh, oh Maker, her Daddy's  **laugh.**

She wants to scream, shout, something, but all she can do is run, flee through the evolving surroundings shaped by her dreams, shouts following her.

_Bluebell!_

_Amelie -!_

_Sister, wait!_

"Hawke!"

She jerks awake with a cry, hands slamming up against the person looming over her and summoning a frost-touched barrier between them, expecting a dagger to glance over where her ribs are shielded.

But the blow does not come, and she blinks, realises the person is glowing -

"Fenris?" The barrier drops in her confusion, muddled mind fleetingly grateful that she hadn't reached for fire instead. "I-"  _thought you would have left again._

"Demons?"

"... Yes. They wore their faces. Mother, Bethany... Father."

"Hawke..." It's the first time _he_ initiates a hug, and all she can do is lean against him and cling, breathing in the scent that is wholly Fenris to anchor herself to the waking world again.

She doesn't sleep for the rest of the night, neither does he.

Maybe she'll look back on this in a couple of weeks and find such a gesture, on his part, adorable.

**77\. Sundown**

"Do you trust me, Fenris?"

"With my life." No hesitation. Oh how that hurts.

"Then I want you to remember. Sundown. Today. Stay strong until then. Remember that, okay?" He nods, loyal, if confused.

The shock, the _hurt_ that flickers through his eyes when she hands him over to Danarius is nearly enough to send her to her knees. But she keeps her eyes forward, jaw clenched tight, not even blinking at the choked whisper of her name.

**78\. Splatters**

It looks like a demon moving in the shadows, the way Merril's magic wars against that of another mage, blood splatters almost everywhere he looks.

"There, quickly! Get them out, I'll alert Sebastian for the others to move in!"

Wide, frightened eyes stare back at him as the doors swing open to reveal elves and humans alike, _children_ , too, all so terribly scared.

**This is...**

_Disgusting._

**We must move quickly, Anders. Even with the help of the City Guard, we don't have much time. The Magister will have surely felt the binding glyphs break.**

_Right._ "We're here to help, okay? Nobody here is going to Tevinter, not if we can help it. I need all of you who are able bodied to follow this Guardsman, okay? We'll get you to safety, and a healer."

Even Donnic looks horrified, and for good reason. That girl at the back was lucky if she was even _six_.

**79\. Bait**

"You used me as _bait_!" He is, quite frankly, furious, and glowing so brightly it is almost blinding. Hawke, much to her horror, looks close to tears.

Aveline moves between them, armour creaking as she curls her hands into fists, more than willing to crack him on the head if he doesn't calm down.

"No, _I_ did. Hawke wasn't for the plan at all. Very nearly blew it, actually." Green eyes, she notes, are almost black. Oh yes, very angry indeed.

" _Why_?"

"To stop a fresh shipment of slaves to Minrathous. Surely you can understand that, _little wolf_?" The lyrium glows brighter still, and for a moment she thinks he's actually going to launch at her in his fury.

But then Donnic is by her side and Hawke is between them, reaching out for his hands, and Fenris refocuses on her, the glow flickering before going out entirely.

_You stupid, stupid man. You don't even realise your feelings, do you?_

"Fenris I - I'm so sorry. I wanted no part in it, I swear, but they had _children_ , too, and I - I was close by the entire time and - _I'm sorry_."

_Maker, what have I caused now?_

**80\. Alarm**

As it turns out, Sandal causes explosions quite frequently with his enchantment apparatus.

It is the most effective - and downright terrifying - morning alarm she's come across, to date.


	17. Chapter 17

**81\. Swing**

_"I'm -- gonna swiiiiiiiiiiiing from the chandelierrrrrrrrrr-!"_

"... How much has Hawke had to drink, again?"

"Enough to drink Sebastian under the table. Maybe we should fetch her down before she breaks something?"

_You mean her face?_ "Agreed."

**82\. Wrap**

Leandra's gaze focuses in on him and he can't restrain the wince. The woman was a force to be reckoned with and had taken to almost... mothering him since his second week in Hawke's company.

He shrinks back towards the door when she looks to the high windows, the snowfall outside. When she frowns he quickens his pace, almost -

"Fenris."

_Damn._

"Se- Leandra." He didn't need the lecture about formalities again, fights the urge to scowl when she positively beams at his verbal recovery.

"It is snowing outside, Fenris."

"I had noticed."

"Of course you did. Look at you! You'll catch your death of a cold!"

"I am perfectly -"

"You stay right there young man. I'll be back in a moment!"

Did he have a choice?

_... Young man?_

* * *

She'd all but physically wrangled him into a hat, scarf and heavy winter cloak that day, he remembers fondly, fingers trailing over the scarf in question. Dark brown, the length just shy of impractical, and pleasantly warm.

Not that he would ever admit to that, but given that he will wrap it snug around his neck (and sometimes over his head during the worst winter days to protect his ears from the biting cold), it's a confession that doesn't need to be said.

**83\. Embers**

She burns the body. She can vaguely remember it, Fenris lifting her from where she'd collapsed nearly on top of her downed opponent. Can remember her head falling limp and so heavy over his arm and seeing those wickedly vicious expressions on the gathered faces of the nobles, advancing on where he'd fallen, no doubt to desecrate the body and strip him of any pride in death.

She'd been dangerously low on Mana, flickering ever closed to the Fade even with the help of elfroot potions. But she'd managed to conjure a flame and throw it, blazing bright over the Arishok's body, feeding it with just enough energy to keep the fire going even in her absence, so that it would consume even if they tried to douse it with water.

She couldn't give him a warrior's departing rights, but she could damn well make sure that his honour of falling in combat was not ruined by bigoted fools.

And so the fire burned, until all that remained was a pile of ash and glowing embers.

**84\. Honey**

Knowing that she'd spent so long on preparing the meal, he feels absolutely horrible about needing to refuse dessert (especially when her face falls and pinches as though he'd just kicked her cat), but he'd rather short term disappointment over a week long panic over his condition.

"It looks lovely, Merril, smells it too! But I can't eat it. I - uh - I'm allergic to honey."

Of course she panics anyway in her typical fluttery, nervous fashion. He'd find it amusing, really, if it wasn't for how often she apologised for making it in the first place.

**85\. Shackle**

They play their parts perfectly, to the point Isabela's jaw aches something awful while she drops one opal fragment at a time to mark the direction of their passage.

_Note to self: never get in a fist fight with a Ferelden woman._

Just when she relaxes into the idea that maybe - just maybe - Lady Luck might be on their side, the bindings come out. A shackle for each wrist and ankle, chains fed through sturdy hoops to force all four limbs backwards at an awkward angle even she wouldn't be able to wriggle out of without drawing attention to the escape attempt.

"Move, and we cut off your fingers. He wants you alive, but he didn't say about keeping you in one piece."

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 81 was just a bit of fun XD obviously they wouldn't have heard of that song.


	18. Chapter 18

**86\. Light**

"Remind me again why we're out here?"

"We're in a cave, Isabela."

"Oh great and powerful mage, please tell us the reason behind our most noble quest through this cave." Somewhere above her there is a snort from Fenris and she cannot help but grin. His humour was so dry it was often hard to tickle. Good to know she succeeded with sarcasm.

"We're here to gather herbs. Or were before the landslide rearranged everything."

"Well -"

"A lot less talking and a little more light would help get us out of this predicament, you two."

"Ooooooh. What's the matter, Choirboy? Afraid that too long spent cooped up with me will tempt you from your vows of celibacy?"

Before he can reply, and stumble over his words in the process, there is a crisp hiss akin to a match being struck, and the pale blue of Anders' magelight floats near her left side, illuminating the path upwards for all of them.

And highlighting the beautiful clench and release of a pert bottom with every reaching step for footholds.

"Let there be _light_."

He pauses at her appreciative sigh, looks down at her, scowls.

"I do believe Hawke has threatened your eyesight before for such staring."

"Sweet thing, if it means your gorgeous buttocks are the last I see, I'll pluck my eyeballs out and give them to Hawke on a silver platter, myself."

He curses and she laughs.

**87\. Growth**

When Amelie had hit her growth spurt Leandra had been certain she would take after Malcolm. But that day never came and at 25 she was still level with Leandra's 5 feet and 6 inches. What she lacked in intimidating stature, however, she more than made up for with her fighter's spirit, no hesitation in sight when confronted by those at least two feet taller and several hundred pounds heavier than her.

Really, fighting the _Qunari_? What was she _thinking_?

**88\. Pain**

Love has always been a beautiful thing to her, especially in its beginning stages. The stolen glances, the hesitant exchange of words and awkward laughs, the smiles, the overprotectiveness (though that could just be unique to Fenris).

It isn't until Carver joins the Templars that she realises loving another in such a way also brings with it an indescribable pain that crushes the chest and empties the lungs of air.

By the time she's run dry of tears Hawke has fallen asleep on the floor beside her ( _so tired, she looks so, so tired_ ) and Merril thinks she has the right of it. Maybe tomorrow Carver will come to his senses and realise what a terrible mistake he's made, realise how horrible the treatment was for Mages and elves alike in the Gallows.

But he doesn't come back and Merril cannot bring herself to comfort her distraught friend with false reassurances when she is also aching from the inside, scrabbling to make sense of something so very wrong.

_Why, Carver? What did we do wrong?_

**89\. Rot**

The place reeks of rot to the point even he (who is used to the cloying sickness of diseased flesh on his clinic cots) wants to gag.

Yet Hawke seems unaffected by the overpowering stench, all but barging her way through Shade and corpse alike in her single-minded march to find her Mother, eyes wild and motions jerky, frantic.

For the first time since landing in Kirkwall - _years_ \- he prays. Actually sends a plea to the Maker for the safety of the woman who had taken to mothering them all.

To lose Leandra... he highly suspects it will break something in Hawke, a worry shared ten-fold by his resident spirit, doing the mental equivalent of climbing up and down walls in frustration.

This wouldn't end well, not with such corruption thick in the air.

But he hopes. He hopes and he prays.

_Please let Leandra be safe._

**90\. Polish**

She would say something about helping him polish _his_ sword, but Hawke looks positively **murderous** , and Fenris keeps glancing up at her pacing with something like worry in his eyes, so Isabela wisely keeps her mouth shut.

Just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I forgot to mention earlier, with the events that happen in these segments. How I picture the Danarius meeting happening in this fic - Aveline discusses the plan of using Fenris as bait with Hawke only a few hours before the meeting is to take place. Hawke is highly reluctant to follow through, but eventually bites the bullet and agrees to hand Fenris over to Danarius. In the meantime the City Guard (along with Varric and Sebastian) locate the slavers who have accompanied Danarius from Minrathous. When they leave the Hanged Man Hawke and Aveline go straight to the two rogues, and the entire gang join with the City Guard to launch an assault to cripple this portion of the slave trade while they have the chance. Merril, Anders, Sebastian, and some guards return to the underground den to free the slaves while Hawke leads Aveline, Isabela, Varric and a small group of guards straight to where Danarius scuttles around Darktown making plans and striking deals. They catch him on his return to the den (with his group of bodyguards) and that's where the showdown happens. Hawke manages to pin Danarius by one of the Darktown stairways with Force magic, and Fenris takes the opening to rip his heart out. And then fume for the next few hours about being used as bait.
> 
> Also, in other news, you might have noticed that an end chapter number has finally been added? I have 120 prompts in total, and I think I'll stop at that. So I now have a chapter number to work to.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to sightsoblind for the prompt of "birth" :)

**91\. Bloom**

Kirkwall is gloomy no matter the season, and especially wet and frightfully cold during winter, but Sundermount changes with the months. He personally prefers the warm reds and oranges of leaves turning in autumn, falling to cover the ground in a crisp, fiery blanket. Amelie, though, prefers spring, when the small creatures start rousing from hibernation and nature begins to bloom again.

After a few years even he falls to the season's charms, but only because bringing her fresh flowers every week gives him an excuse to braid her hair and arrange the vibrant petals _just so_ in the fall of silken ink down her back.

**92\. Red**

He's never seen so much blood on her at once, his alarm pulling Justice from the recesses of his mind as he flutters ahead of Fenris to clear off the only flat surface left free of any injured in the Qunari assault.

The solid, bloodstained table curtained off from the rest of his clinic, on which the most fatally wounded often slipped from his grasp before he could even begin to mend their injuries.

"What _happened_?" Maker's breath, she was so pale, and a single questing tendril of magic confirmed she was _barely_ clinging to life.

"Arishok. I'll explain later. Heal her."

"I don't -" He glances from her - too still, far too still - and the glow already overtaking his own hands to look first at the gauntleted fingers that will likely leave bruises on his bicep come tomorrow morning, then up to Fenris' face.

There is panic there, raw and painful in its intensity and all at once it feels like the world is falling down around his ears, the severity of the situation crashing through the numbing fog of disbelief.

" _Please_."

Fenris, panicked. Pleading.

Hawke, dying.

_No no no no no this is not happening. This cannot be hap-_

**Let me help.**

He can't even protest, knowing he's too drained from tending to everyone else and wrapping them in healing sleep to be able to keep Hawke grounded in life. He willingly falls back as Justice pushes forward, watches from the confines of their shared mind as the Spirit calls on the Fade within himself to fuel the healing spell spilling from blue-cracked fingertips in currents.

Red even shows through the too-bright glow of Justice's magic.

**93\. Devotion**

It is a private moment and she really shouldn't be staring, but she's powerless to tear her gaze away from the bristly, taciturn elf so obviously _relaxing_ in the human's - Hawke's - presence. And wasn't that a shock? They'd all believed her trapped in the Fade until death.

She watches, curious, as their hands come up, fingers lacing together. A tingle of magic, and those odd lyrium tattoos of his light up in response as a sigh rolls his shoulders from their rigid set. Hawke smiles in response, leans her forehead against his with a murmured _I made you a promise to come back_ that is so faint even to _her_ ears, as though the human knew the near-exact pitch to use to avoid being heard by those with sharper senses.

Mewyn has to look away at that, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. There was no denying the devotion between them - had she expected anything different after hearing Varric's tales and Cullen's personal accounts? - and to think she'd nearly torn them apart, circumstances be damned...

She needed air. Fresher air, beyond that in the courtyard.

**94\. Unease**

He wouldn't have thought it possible, but the unease in the city gets _worse_ after the Qunari leave, problems between Templars and Mages reaching a boiling point. And the way some of the Templars outright _stare_ at Hawke makes his skin prickle and his hand automatically reach for Bianca.

Few words need to be exchanged between Fenris and he before they're pooling their coin together and hiring a few daggers to lurk in the shadows around the Hawke estate at night.

**95\. Birth**

"Hawke. That's an egg."

"Indeed it is, Sebastian."

"A _hatched_ egg."

"Yes! From this morning!"

"You have a dragonling in your house? Have you gone insane?!"

"Shh! You'll frighten it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in update - I have an exam tomorrow so study has taken importance.
> 
> In regards to 93. Devotion - yes, this is to do with Inquisition. I have not played the game myself, so know very little of the goings on. But I do know that Hawke is supposedly left trapped in the Fade depending on player choices. What utter bullpoopie. Hawke would find a way out simply for being HAWKE. Mewyn is the name I would give my Inquisitor (female elf mage) if I could play the game.
> 
> Also, the holding hands and magic thing? I believe I'll be writing a oneshot related to that sometime soon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to sightsoblind for all the prompts in this chapter :)

**96\. Empty**

When Fenris leaves - which is often - she is left in the mansion, alone. Without his quiet presence the atmosphere seems to... change. It is oppressive, stifling, and although she has no evidence of it she is _certain_ that the place is never truly empty.

Even though there has been no attack or threat, she's positive something lurks in wait. For what, she doesn't know, but it unsettles her enough that she eventually swallows her pride and asks - haltingly - if she can accompany them on some of their outings.

To her surprise Hawke agrees without even batting an eyelash.

**97\. Echo**

He is a much more regular feature to the pews for months after confronting the Desire Demon, prayers for guidance - for sense - all but frantic with an echo of the creature's words ringing in his skull. Taunting him, testing his resolve, making him _wonder_ , even for a fleeting moment.

**98\. Dance**

Another function to attend, another night spent glowering at the men foolish enough to request Amelie's hand for a dance (even when she seeks refuge in his shadow) and snapping at those still under the assumption that he was a servant to order around.

Abruptly she is pulling him to where couples sway and twirl in structured moves, easily falling into the pattern expected of her, and he just _knows_ she's up to something.

She kisses him without warning, in front of everyone - Templars, City Guard, nobility - with a tenderness that makes his fingers unconsciously squeeze their clasp on hers. Those previously watching them are outright staring, silent. Amelie is grinning, her amusement blinding, lightly tugging on the ridiculous high collar of his tunic until barely a hair's breadth separates their noses. Another kiss, fleeting on his shock-slackened lips, before she's whispering for his ears alone.

" _I am yours._ "

He smiles.

**99\. Ferelden**

She misses Ferelden sometimes, the persistent cold and rain, dirt and mud and days spent working to the point of exhaustion with little reward beyond the sense of accomplishment for enduring another gruelling week.

But then she remembers clouded eyes and darkening veins, the sudden give of underarmour and the sound of steel sliding home through clammy flesh.

Wesley.

Even years later, happy and remarried, part of her still aches at the memory of him.

**100\. Crown**

It doesn't escape her notice that Meredith's headpiece looks almost like a crown, even more so after Viscount Dumar's death and the iron boot she had slowly crushed the city under.

It is with **great** pleasure that Amelie first knocks it askew, then clean off her head, in the middle of dancing around and away from her enraged swings, laughing in the face of her volcanic temper.

"Is that the best you can do, old hag?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to sightsoblind for the prompt of "first".
> 
> And thank you, also, to scrumdiddlyumptious for the prompts of "hearbeat", "strength", "cry", and "feathers".

**101\. First**

Their first kiss marks the path for the rest, a stolen moment outside the Hanged Man in the relative privacy of an empty street. She's tiny compared to him - adorably so - so armoured hands upon her waist pick her up to compensate for the height difference. She giggles and kicks her feet in mid air, threads delicate fingers into his hair and tugs ever so gently.

"And to think I once called you _little Hawke_!"

A quick peck to the lips quiets her, then another, and another, until a soft sigh of his name tumbles from her mouth and gives him pause. He leans his forehead against hers after a moment, charmed to the point of grinning like a fool when he sees that her pretty eyes are closed and her cheeks lightly flushed.

Maker help him. A member of the Templars, and he _likes_ a Blood Mage. Why did his life need to be so damn complicated?

**102\. Heartbeat**

After so much death and battle and constant, nagging fear, nightmares are almost a constant fixture to her sleeping hours. Demons prowl forward to snap at her heels on a regular basis, waiting to seize on any weak links in her mental armour.

But even in sleep she is aware of the heat of a living chest against her cheek and the steady drum of a heartbeat under her ear. Not her own.

Fenris'.

Of the few anchors to sanity she has left, that beautiful sound is the strongest, and the most precious.

**103\. Strength**

They've all come to see her as a support pillar, something unmovable and unbreakable even when caught in the middle of Kirkwall's chaos.

Now, for a _third_ time, they're in the Deep Roads. Now they search for the crazy bastard behind the ambush that had very nearly succeeded in carving a bloody grin into Hawke's throat.

And Hawke's strength deserts her at the disembodied voice curling lovingly around her late Mother's name, crying out and reaching for the misty figure from where she's dropped to her knees, Fenris hovering beside her with his greatsword drawn, brows drawn into a sharp _v_ of obvious concern and agitation.

_Wait... I've seen him before._

Beside the chair Hawke had been sitting in, with Leandra and the young woman with a smile of sunshine.

"Daddy -"

And that hits him like a fist to the gut, how lost and alone she sounds when her voice breaks on that single word.

_Life hasn't been kind to you, has it, Hawke?_

**104\. Cry**

Tears are not part of Aveline's nature. Not by a long shot. But standing there in Anders' clinic, all three of them silent as death after the news, something cold and guarded shifts to the side, and she starts to cry (with Hawke following suit moments later). Happy, worried, unsure of what it _means_ with the state Kirkwall is in, and getting worse by the week.

Perhaps... perhaps there is some hope for change, after all.

**105\. Feathers**

They trail all things grime and slime into the Chantry just to talk to him (he'll hear nothing but complaints for _weeks_ ), but that's negligible in the face of Hawke and Isabela both covered in fluffy down and feathers. Hawke even had some stuck to the seat of her leather trousers, which he quickly averts his gaze from when she bends to retie her boot laces.

"Do I even want to ask what happened?"

"As it turns out, that creepy chair guy in the Black Emporium collects birds, too. Real ones! Alive and stuffed! Think we could set a trend, handsome?" Complete with a sway of her hip and a... a _wiggle_ to move her cleavage. _In the middle of the Chantry._

"Subtle as ever, Isabela." She had _no_ shame. _None_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 103\. Strength - is from Varric, if you recall he saw three figures with Hawke in 34. Ghost. 
> 
> 104\. Cry - this will tie into the last prompt (120) of this collection.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to "beep" for the prompts of "hero" and villain; to sightsoblind for "stains"; and to Kamille for "giggle" and "malicious" :)

**106\. Hero**

_Some call me a hero, some call me a monster. Some remember me as the kind apostate who helped them in their time of need, others remember me as a rebel against Templar order, leaving destruction in my wake._

_The truth is that I am none of these things, and all of these things. I am flawed and sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes these mistakes have consequences I can't fix, no matter how hard I try. But I do not deserve the title of hero - there are many I could not save. I do not deserve the title of monster - there are many I saved from death or worse._

_Most of my life has revolved around conflict and running because of my practice of the arcane arts. I stopped running in Kirkwall, I tried to set down some roots, make it my home, because all I've ever wanted is peace. That's all. Just peace. The hope that I might still find it some day is often my only driving force to keep going in a world so rife with discrimination and hatred towards anything and anyone differing from the majority, from what is counted as "normal"._

_My name is Amelie Hawke and I ask that you take the time to read this, from my hand, rather than listen to your local storytellers who seek to turn my name into a rumour or legend._

_This is my life - nothing altered, nothing hidden - and it started in Ferelden, with the day of my birth._

**107\. Villain**

The Arishok was not a villain, she knows this. He did not engage in senseless battle or murder, she knows this too. Followers of the Qun - or at least the recognisable ones - are not inherently evil. She reminds herself of it every single day.

But she cannot help the instinctual reach for her staff every time she sights one of the towering giants, nor the call of a barrier spell to her fingertips, ready to cast at a moment's notice.

Not when she had been so close to dying after her battle with the Arishok that a _Spirit_ had chosen to intervene and temporarily ground her to the waking world, just long enough for Anders to work magic nearing a miracle.

**108\. Stains**

It's the sound of something breaking downstairs that pulls him from slumber - not that it takes much to do so, given he's yet to adapt to _freedom_ from slavers on his tail. He takes a dagger from where it is strapped to the leg of the bedside table, only lighting a candle once he's out of Amelie's chambers and at no risk of disturbing her sleep.

The lyrium markings itch, ready to ignite in white fire if there is, indeed, an intruder foolish enough to break into the Hawke estate.

He finds Orana instead, kneeling in the downstairs washroom, just shy of hysterical and scrubbing with such ferocity that her knuckles have gone chalk white and her arms shake.

It isn't until he sees the stains - brown and caked despite her distressed efforts - that he realises what the carelessly spread material is: bedding. _The_ bedding from the night of the ambush, when only Shadow's unannounced charge at the assassin and Amelie's fast healing spells had avoided a _fatal_ slice to her neck.

He watches Orana for a few minutes, but when it becomes clear that her hysterics will not settle any time soon, he sets aside candle and dagger in favour of grasping her hands in his, grip going tight when she attempts to pull away and return to her failed effort at stain removal.

"Orana - Orana _enough_!" The flinch, he hates, but at least it gets her attention focused on him.

**109\. Giggle**

It's not laughter that is important with his sister. Ever since Bethy's death, she'd taken to wearing humour like a second set of armour, protection against emotional harm rather than physical.

No, the _giggle_ was most important, meant she was genuinely happy and not simply pretending to be for the sake of everyone else.

He's noticed that, despite the obvious markers that _something_ had happened (and gone wrong), she giggles most when Fenris is around.

** 110\. Malicious **

_Fenris,_

_I know you can read now. I would send this to Amelie if I could, but my communication with her is being monitored._

_I know you don't like Mages - especially not Blood Mages - but I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. Some of the Templars are planning something - I haven't been able to find out the exact details (they don't trust someone carrying the Hawke name, clearly) but I do know that it has something to do with the Alienage._

_I think Merril and any of the elf kids who can do magic are in danger. I can't risk getting caught up with aiding a Mage again or I'll be put in solitary (if they're generous) for too many months to be of use to anyone outside the Circle._

_Some of these Templars are malicious bastards, I've seen how some of them treat the Tranquil, makes my skin crawl. I'm asking for your help, Fenris. Please, help me keep them safe. Help me get them out before something terrible happens._

_Don't go to Anders. His clinic is being watched (he knows). Aveline, too._

_Come see me after... whatever comes to pass._

_\-- C._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the Spirit mentioned in the villain prompt Justice? Maybe. Maybe not.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thank you to Kamille, this time for the prompts of "emptiness", "intent", and "softly" :)

**111\. Emptiness**

There is a vast emptiness in her, a yawning chasm where there used to be a constant flood of thought. A hole in her chest where her heart used to be, a tight iron band around her ribs stealing away her ability to breathe properly.

Tears have long since dried up, all wept over the mutilated body of a dead woman. Now she stares into the dancing flames (so close to them and yet the heat does not touch her skin), ignorant to the passage of time beyond markers made by the presence of another. Aveline, Anders, Varric, Merril, Sebastian, Isabela, they all come and go like quiet shadows, never staying for long. Fenris lingers each time he visits, and while he hardly speaks she knows he's there, watching her. Orana bustles around her, fussing until she accepts food and eats, drinks when a glass of water is pressed into numb hands. Bodahn tucks a blanket around her and pats her knee, and she sleeps, refusing to budge from her seat before the hearth.

When she sleeps, the Demons come.

When she wakes, Shadow and Fenris guard her.

Her Mother is still gone, and Carver doesn't visit.

**112\. Intent**

He doesn't speak with the intent of causing harm or upset, he truly doesn't. But bitterness is the best friend of jealousy, and seeing the red scarf tucked around her neck so similar in shade to the one around Fenris' wrist is enough to bring out the lashing cut of sharp words.

_He seems less a man to me than a wild dog._ He regrets them immediately, wants to pluck them back and swallow them down, but the damage is done and even as Fenris readies a caustic retort for him, there is a worldess shriek from Amelie and Sebastian shoulders between them to restrain flame engulfed fists from pummeling him into the ground.

This... wasn't how he'd envisioned their search for Sela Petrae going.

_Oh dear._

**113\. Softly**

It's a quiet delight to see how Donnic treats Aveline when they're both off duty. As softly and delicately as one might a precious flower in bloom, nurtured and cared for.

And damn if that didn't sound like some sappy comment straight from one of Varric's books.

"So! Donnic -"

_"Maker, here we go."_

"- Have you bent her over that table in the Keep and punished her for being a bad, _bad_ Captain?"

"Isabela!"

"Oh my - you're blushing! You have, haven't you? Oh this is _priceless_!"

**114\. Mask**

They're standing on opposite sides again. Was she doomed to lose all of her family? Be the reason three of them died? Was this a punishment from the Maker for being born a Mage and embracing her abilities?

Meredith she could handle - she'd faced worse crazy in the past decade - but Carver?

How could she possibly kill her little -

He winks, and Amelie can only stare as the hostility is wiped clean from his face as easily as a mask being discarded, her mouth dropping open (which she'll deny later if they survive this) when he hefts his greatsword and moves to stand _beside_ her.

"You want my sister, you'll have to come through me first, _Knight-Commander_."

**115\. Aging**

She doesn't quite notice it until Bodahn mentions it, his aging. Funny how such realisations hit the hardest - that the ones closest to her could die of something as mundane as _old age_.

And that is how she finds herself on the kitchen floor, covered in flour, with the kind dwarf softly hushing her and patting her back while she hiccups through the sudden onset of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say that I have a love-hate thing with Anders' character. On one hand he can be surprisingly sweet and cute, and yet on the other hand his relationship with Fenris is just plain nasty and with barbed comments from both sides. But when he made that comment in game, I really wished it was possible to punch him in the face -.-


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the final chapter. It's been a fun run writing for these prompts. I might do something similar in the future.
> 
> Until then, any further feedback is appreciated :)

**116\. Locked**

"It's locked for a reason!"

"Come now, Poppet. Aveline hasn't said a word since you two came back from Anders' clinic, and you've gone and holed yourself up in here. We're worried." Another jiggle and the lock gives way with a lovely click. But before she can give a triumphant cheer at besting yet another new lock on Hawke's door, a thick sheet of ice spider-webs across its surface and spikes shunt through the keyhole, twisting her lockpick free.

"Hey! That's cheating!" She tries the handle for good measure, but the door is wedged shut by the magic, and a sudden blast of chilly air _through_ it nearly tears her bandanna clear off her head, raises gooseflesh on her arms.

" _Go away!_ "

"Fine fine, but you better show up for Wicked Grace tonight!"

**117\. Abs**

She remembers the Anders before, the Grey Warden she'd met in the Pearl - all lean muscle and abs to die for (for a Mage, anyway).

He's a shadow of his former self, skin starting to stretch over bones, magic fingers too thin, robes all but hanging from his shoulders. She teases him about it in her typical fashion, laments the loss of such fine eye candy, but they both know she wouldn't make such comments if there wasn't concern behind them.

Isabela doesn't mention his weight again, but there's a basket of food waiting for him inside his _closed_ clinic the following morning, and the morning after that.

She never gives across the impression that she's the one leaving such offerings, but considering Varric fitted locks on the clinic doors, who else would it be?

He eats what he can and whatever is left that he genuinely cannot stomach, he sends home with his patients.

**118\. Trapped**

For every one Mage they keep free of the Templars, three more are caught and trapped in the Gallows, even with Carver's help from the inside.

They were fighting a losing battle, and they knew it.

**119\. Hope**

_Calm yourself, child. I mean you no harm._

"Are you... Spirit? Where's... the Nightmare?"

_That particular demon is dead now, by your hand. Yes, I am a Spirit, and you are gravely wounded._

"What are... you - _ah!_ \- doing?"

_Healing. This is not your time to die, little bluebell._

"What... how do y - who _are_ you?"

_I am Hope. Now close your eyes, child. When you waken, return to those you left behind. They wait for you at Skyhold._

**120\. Surprise**

"Well? What's wrong with me, Anders?"

"Is she sick? Is it serious?"

"No, Aveline, she's not - you really don't _know_?"

"If I did, I'd have cured it already!"

"You can't cure a - Maker's breath. You're _pregnant_ , Hawke."


End file.
